


le grande mort

by TrekFaerie



Series: 63 Hours [2]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Elves, Humor, M/M, Marathon Sex, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8639602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: Robbie is going to die. In the best way, of course.





	

**Author's Note:**

> man this idea came in like a wrecking ball. happy turkey day, ya fucks.

_Dear Mrs. Rotten, your beloved and handsome son Robert has tragically died following an endless bout of marathon sex that his aged, cholesterol-laden heart was not able to withstand. In lieu of flowers, please aggressively not clap your hands and believe, so as to avenge his death--_

No, wait. That was for fairies, wasn't it? It had to be something different, for elves. He just couldn't imagine someone so... robust being laid low by a lack of clapping. (That was more _his_ style.)

It had been approximately 45 hours since a series of events that had started with the discovery of whipped cream-flavored vodka's existence and ended with what had been intended to be a tearful, heartfelt confession of love but mostly was an aggressive venting of years of sexual frustration and confusion, punctuated by half-meant but wholly sincere accusations of being an insufferable ingénue.

So, it must have been about 43.5 hours since that (pardon his French) absolute _foutoir_ had lead to an actual tearful, heartfelt confession of love, and 43 hours since _that_ lead to their fucking on every unoccupied surface of his lair, several surfaces that had actually not been unoccupied at all until forcibly made so, and, finally, the big, fluffy bed that he actually very rarely slept in.

Robbie Rotten was sure he was going to die. Cause of death: Sportacus' insatiable lust.

He had never been a man for strenuous activity, and though he hadn't been the one performing almost daring feats of aerobic ability (some pretty complex and creative positions, for someone who had insisted he was a virgin), he'd put in far more effort than he'd put into anything in possibly his entire life. It seemed a whirlwind of movement-- lips, tongue, skin, cock, wet heat and pleasure-- that only died down for a few hours, never more than three, before starting up again with even greater fervor.

It was during one of those blissful breaks-- or, more specifically, at the moment it was rudely interrupted by the feeling of restless hands tracing patterns onto his skin, of a previously dozing man's body and mouth working its way downwards-- that he began to write his own will.

Robbie was tired. He was very tired. He was sticky-- very sticky. The blanket made him feel overheated, which made all the other problems worse. He felt vaguely sore in places and muscles that, if he had used them before, had only ever seen the very lightest of use.

And as he placed his hands on the blanket to lift it, he almost didn't want to, because he knew for a fact that Sportacus was going to look _the exact same way_ he'd looked nearly two damned days ago.

He did, of course. He looked _perfect_ , resting down by Robbie's hips, strong hands pushing apart his thighs, skin just slick enough with sweat to shine in the dimmed artificial light... Lips plush and slightly parted, dropping Robbie's half-hard cock as he looked up at him with a curious expression in those stunning blue eyes...

He was suddenly reminded of how he'd failed, repeatedly, to even consider stopping. Because, he knew, the blame for how awful he felt didn't really fall on Sportacus-- who, kind and gentle and wonderful as he was, would have stopped immediately if Robbie had wanted him to, even if his inhuman urges could have kept him going for days, weeks. But, that was the problem. The moment he saw those eyes, he stopped wanting to stop, and started wanting entirely different things.

What an awful laziness-based villain he'd turned out to be. If only he'd known his weakness was pretty elven boys.

(He would've tried some light cardio. Maybe.)

Sportacus opened his mouth, as if to speak, but he pressed his finger against his lips, silencing him. He was lucky it didn't prompt him to take the finger into his mouth, because that _definitely_ would have killed him.

"There can be," he said, slow and careful, a man not used to saying the words his mouth was forming, "too much of a good thing."

"You're right, Robbie!" His eyes were wide, his tone like someone given a revelation. "There can be too much of a good thing!"

"Oh, do you have to take it so goshdarn _personally_ \--"

"But, I'm not, Robbie! I really just hadn't thought about it that way!" Would it have been less annoying if he were being uncharacteristically sarcastic, instead of just his normal, painfully full of wonder self? He wasn't sure. Sportacus lifted himself up on his palms and shuffled his way back up Robbie's body, stopping when his nose was parallel to Robbie's own and barely a few spaces apart. "That's what I like best about you. You have such a clever way of thinking."

Ah, well... Wonder wasn't too bad, sometimes. (And maybe, one day, he'd finally get used to having it directed towards him.)

"I wish I were half as clever as you."

" _Everybody_ does... But, don't worry about it. You've got plenty of pleasing qualities to make up for it." He reached up and tousled that mop of dirty blond hair, one of the many things that made an ageless being look like such a younger man. "If everyone compared themselves to me, they'd never be satisfied with their lives!"

Sportacus chuckled in his endearing way, kissing Robbie, sweeter than the searing ones he'd give before. "If you wanted to rest longer," he said, "you could've just asked. I'll do whatever it is you want, Robbie. Whatever it is that makes you happy."

He sighed, content, and pulled Sportacus down to him, wrapping himself in his body. Now, all he wanted was to relax-- and cuddle, of course. That required no effort whatsoever.


End file.
